


In Eternal Spring

by CryptidBane (Impetus)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe: Harry Potter, Beauxbatons!Magnus, Durmstrang!Alec, F/F, Harry Potter AU, M/M, Malec Advent Calendar 2018, side Clizzy, side jimon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-06 03:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impetus/pseuds/CryptidBane
Summary: Cradled in the ennui of snow-capped mountains, Magnus Bane finds Alexander Lightwood in the blooms of perpetual spring.





	In Eternal Spring

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to @la_muerta and @quillstem for beta-ing my work! I’d be lost without y’all and your guidance.
> 
> Also a shout out to @plamen_novakov on twitter for helping me with Alec’s dialogue! I really appreciate it!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this contribution to the advent calendar!

Magnus loves Beauxbatons. He loves its white walls, verdant gardens, and stained glass windows. Its elegance brings him calm, a respite from the realities of being a muggleborn orphan.

Here, it feels like he belongs, and he almost believes it too. So when the headmistress announces that Beauxbatons will be participating in an academic exchange, Magnus decides that he _will_ be a representative.

The qualifications are simple enough: Submit a letter of recommendation from a professor, and pass both a written and a practical exam. Magnus is the top student in three of his classes, and his Charms professor adores him.

A week after the test, the headmistress calls upon himself and Catarina Loss to notify them of their acceptance. Magnus is responsible for the Durmstrang students, and Catarina is responsible for Hogwarts, the pair of them playing host to the twenty-odd students from each.

“It is an honor to be chosen,” the headmistress says with great gravitas, leveling them both with the sophisticated yet steely gaze she often wears.

***

All the details have been ironed out, and Magnus can’t wait for their guests to arrive. Catarina says that she has a friend named Ragnor who goes to Hogwarts.

“He’s a grump, but he said that his parents were insistent that he participate. He speaks French, but really all he uses it for is complaining.”

“He sounds charming,” Magnus says with a laugh. “Do you think I could convince a Durmstrang student to tell me where it’s located? Seduce them maybe?” Magnus asks, wiggling his eyebrows. He places a marker into his book on the school in question. His roommate, Raphael Santiago, peers over at him with an exasperated expression. He is younger than Magnus and Catarina, but always manages to look annoyed with them anyway.

“Don’t bother,” Raphael says, waving his wand at a white throw pillow. The cushion wriggles, then soars into the air, landing in Raphael’s lap. “I doubt any of them will speak with you any more than they have to.”

“So hurtful, Raphael,” Magnus replies with a huff. “Have a little more faith in me.”

Raphael makes a point of rolling his eyes. “May I have enough faith to carry me through your bullshit.”

Catarina snorts into her own set of books, warding off Magnus’ indignant rebuttals with her hand. “Well they’ll be arriving tomorrow, so make sure they’re happy, with or without your seduction.”

“Of course,” Magnus replies. “Trust me, I’ll take _very_ good care of them.”

“I’m expecting an international incident,” Raphael says. He returns to his _Accio_ practice, summoning a gilded book from across the room.

Magnus smiles and flicks his wand. All of the cushions in the room rise, then descend, covering Raphael from head to toe.

***

Magnus stands next to the headmistress beneath painted ceilings, the mural of magical creatures moving above them. One of the dragons spits a stream of fire, disrupting a crowd of birds, their tiny brushstrokes weaving across the rippling sky.

Large windows line the walls, stained glass writhing as unicorns and phoenixes cast shapes along the floors. Magnus scans the room. The youngest students are all crowded together, tiny and anxious, gossiping amongst themselves. They’re sweet, Magnus thinks. He hopes that their visitors will show the young ones just how vast the world is. Catarina stands at the front as well, braids laying over her shoulder. She and Magnus exchange eager looks as a staff member hurries to the headmistress. Then, the headmistress calls for silence, preparing them all for their guests.

Hogwarts arrives in a flurry of color. Groups of five release bright bursts from their wands, weaving lines of red, green, blue, and yellow, as they troop through the hall. Four students brandish their arms before all the rest, a silvery corporeal patronus erupting from each of their wands. Magnus raises a brow, impressed, and claps with the rest of his peers.

Catarina smiles at one. He nods back, looking surly, then steps in line with the others.

The headmistress greet the Hogwarts students, introducing them to Catarina. Catarina curtsies at them all before leading them to one of the long tables. Tittering commences as soon as they settle in, all of Beauxbatons arching their necks as the sound of heavy footsteps approach.

The double doors burst open. A girl with long dark hair spars with a blonde boy, both of them bearing the emblem of Durmstrang, her whip and his metal staff gleaming beneath the glass chandeliers that illuminate the room. The rest of the entourage pours in behind them in a river of dark red and fur, moving with great surety toward the front of the room. Magnus watches as they come to a stop. It grows quiet, both fighters settling at each other’s throats as sparks fly around them.

Movement draws Magnus’ eye, a tall shadow in the doorway, broad shoulders spreading wide as an arrow is drawn and shot, fusing the air with white heat as it explodes into the form of a dragon. The light casts the archer in sharp relief, a soft glow catching on thick lashes and a scar through one eyebrow. He’s beautiful.

Magnus Bane is not flustered. Magnus Bane doesn’t even know what being flustered _is,_ thank you very fucking much. The headmistress beckons to him. He flicks a lock of hair out of his face, stepping toward the students, nonchalant.

“We thank you for coming all this way. This is Magnus Bane, the senior student representative who will escort you to your accommodations.” The headmistress turns to Magnus and gestures with her hand toward the Durmstrang students. “He will be taking care of you.”

Hazel eyes meet his own, and Magnus fights the urge to cover his unusual gold gaze, plastering on his most winning smile. The boy blushes high on his cheeks. _Oh_. Magnus bites back a grin, stomach fluttering. That sure is a sight.

Well, no time like the present. And because he is most certainly not flustered.

“Welcome to Beauxbatons. I am Magnus Bane.” Magnus pauses, taking a polite bow. He stands, watching as the archer speaks urgently with another student, attention flickering between Magnus and the granite floors. That won’t do. “I will guide you to where you will be staying. We have guest wings prepared for you. But first, food.”

Magnus shows them to a banquet table. The Beauxbatons students shift to make space, periwinkle blue uniforms making way for the heavy Durmstrang coats. He sits toward the end, in one of the many gold and navy blue chairs, taking in the scents of the feast as it appears on the table. He’s so hungry. Someone sits in the chair next to his, bringing the scent of teakwood and a rustling of furs.

“You are Magnus,” a deep voice says in halting French. Despite the noise around them, Magnus hears him with crystal clarity, the words still trailing fingers up his spine.

“I am,” Magnus replies. He turns, meeting green and gold and brown, sucking in air. Magnus lowers his lashes and bites his lip. “And you are?”

“Alec,” he says, wearing a hesitant expression. Magnus fights to breathe as Alec continues. “Alec Lightwood. My sister told me to introduce myself. Your eyes are beautiful.” The compliment tumbles from Alec’s mouth in a rush, his face turning bright red.

“Thank you,” Magnus manages, trying to find his composure as the flattery echoes in his mind, giving birth to butterflies in his chest. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yes,” Alec says, still blushing, gaze darting down to the table. “For me also it is nice for us to meet, ah—I mean that it is nice to meet you also.” His flush deepens, eyes flickering up to Magnus’ as he corrects his mistake. Each nervous movement endearing Magnus to great affect. The hall hums with chatter and the sound of utensils on plates, and Magnus is sure there are people watching them, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“I think you have beautiful eyes as well,” Magnus says.

“Thank you,” Alec mumbles, fingers twitching where they rest on the table.

“You’re welcome,” Magnus says, thrilled to watch as Alec turns away, muttering something to himself in a language Magnus isn’t familiar with. “Shall we eat?” Magnus asks. Alec nods. Magnus takes a lamb chop, some roasted potatoes, and assorted vegetables.

It smells divine, the usual fair of foods mixed in with some diversity to suit their visitors. Magnus appreciates the sight of Alec taking a large serving of each vegetable, avoiding the fatty bits of steak as he takes a slice onto his plate, cutting the meat into even pieces before eating. He’s meticulous, and the behavior charms Magnus more than it has any right to.

They continue to eat, Magnus ignoring the disapproving looks Alec sends him every time he pushes a carrot to the side.

“Why do you not eat the carrot?” Alec asks. His brows draw together as he searches for the right words. He rubs the back of his neck, fingers scratching at his dark hair, looking adorable despite his severe expression. “They are healthy for you,” he says, frustration with French clear on his face.

“I don’t like them,” Magnus admits, a bit embarrassed of his childish reasoning. Alec smiles and shakes his head.

“You should eat them. I do not like brussel sprouts, but I eat them,” Alec says, stabbing a brussel sprout, holding it up for examination before putting it into his mouth. He chews with immense determination before swallowing. “See? It is healthy for you. Please try them.” Just five minutes into Alec’s acquaintance, Magnus will do anything for him, so Magnus gives him an awkward smile.

“Only because you’re so pretty,” Magnus says with a wink. He sighs, staring down at the now-cold carrots as they mock him. He puts one into his mouth and regrets it.

With a few awful bites, the carrot is gone, and Magnus washes the taste away with a large gulp of water. Alec laughs, nudging Magnus’ shoulder with his own.

“We will work on it,” Alec says, encouraging Magnus with a firm nod before pulling away.

Magnus smiles in reply. The warmth of Alec’s hand burns through Magnus’ uniform, surging through his veins, and setting him alight. But Magnus is _not_ flustered. So he does what he does best, wrapping confidence around himself like a cloak. He will not let Alec Lightwood get the better of him so easily. Magnus is the seducer, not the seduced.

Alec clears his throat, a shy smile settling across his face. “Would you like to, how do you say, get to know each other?” There is no guile or flirtation, only earnest curiosity, and nerves that dance in his hazel eyes.

Magnus never stood a chance.

“Of course,” Magnus says, more than a little breathless. “I would love to.”

Alec grants him a brilliant smile, nodding, then takes the largest slice of pie Magnus has ever seen.

***

Magnus doesn’t get any alone time with Alec after the welcoming feast, disappointing him beyond belief, even though he and Catarina continue to tend to the needs of the exchange students. Much of their time is spent explaining Beauxbatons’ traditions, such as their annual unicorn racing competition.

Two days into the semester, the Hogwarts students begin to ask about Quidditch, and are horrified to hear that Beauxbatons does not have any official Quidditch tournaments during the school year, much less school teams.

Magnus and Catarina bring the complaints to the headmistress, who consults Hogwarts and Durmstrang on their policies. The headmistress allows Magnus, Catarina, and representatives from the two visiting schools to plan a Quidditch tournament.

“So we have three teams. There are less students from Durmstrang and Hogwarts, but we play Quidditch regularly. It’s pretty competitive at Hogwarts,” a blond girl, a Slytherin, suggests. “The final match up will be decided by point differential if there is a tie.” The rest of the Hogwarts entourage make affirmative noises, looking toward the Durmstrang group for their opinion.

All five Durmstrang students nod in acceptance. “That is okay for us,” Alec says, “we will play.”

Catarina records all of the information and requests that everyone sign the parchment. “If everyone is in agreement, we will hold tryouts for each school this coming Saturday at different times during the day. Magnus and I will speak to the staff about the tournament,” she declares.

***

As the exchange students become more acclimated to life at Beauxbatons, Magnus finds himself with more time to give Alec his undivided attention. Magnus meets Isabelle and Jace, Alec’s siblings, and takes to Izzy as soon as she compliments his nail polish. Jace is as uninterested in Magnus as Magnus is in him, directing his attentions to one of the Hogwarts students, a Hufflepuff named Simon.

The eight of them, including Raphael, Simon’s best friend Clary, and Catarina’s friend Ragnor, spend most of their time together in the southmost courtyard. It’s a small but quiet space. There are flowers of all different colors and shapes in bloom. The grass is kept manicured, a powerful enchantment shrouding the chateau grounds in perpetual spring. It’s peaceful, and easy to access should any student require Magnus or Catarina’s attention.

It is in this courtyard that Magnus finds out that Alec plays Quidditch. He’s the best keeper at Durmstrang in fact, if Isabelle is to be believed, and Magnus insists on watching the Durmstrang practices.

“You do not have to come watch. I am not very skilled,” Alec says. He waves Magnus’ protests away, glaring at his sister where she sits in the grass, shy. She laughs, whispering something in Clary’s ear that makes the Gryffindor blush.

“How can we be sure you aren’t spying on us for the Beauxbatons teams?” Jace asks, his French impeccable in a way that Alec’s is not. He eyes Magnus from where he’s sitting with Simon, playing Wizard’s Chess, and swears under his breath when Simon takes his knight.

“Because I don’t care about sports beyond appreciating the beautiful people playing them. I’m only going for your brother,” Magnus says, rolling his eyes. Alec blushes, bright and borderline cherubic, but says nothing. “I don’t even know how to play Quidditch,” Magnus admits with a shrug. “How can I spy for my team if I don’t even know what’s happening?”

Jace looks over at him in disbelief. “Don’t you play Quidditch at home like everyone else?”

Magnus thinks about an empty house and its cold lack of magic.

Raphael gives an annoyed huff from where he sits in the shade of a tree, working on a report. He closes his book and glares at Jace. “Don’t you know how to keep your mouth shut?”

Magnus can’t be here anymore, embarrassment and a bit of frustration creeping under his skin, sinking teeth into the edges of his smile. “Raphael, be nice. No harm, no foul,” he says, trying his best to mean it. “But if you’ll excuse me, I just remembered that I offered to help tutor a student before dinner. I will see you all tonight.” He gets to his feet before anyone can argue and shoots Raphael a warning glance before leaving the courtyard. He leaves the scent of flowers behind as he enters the building. The book he’d been reading, a text on muggle science, is heavy in his hand.

The corridor is empty, and Magnus is grateful for the space. He deals with this every once in a while. The whole of Beauxbatons knows about him: always at the top in his classes, a ridiculous flirt, and a muggleborn orphan with no one who loves him. It’s no one’s fault that the students from the other schools are not as informed as his peers.

In a way, he’s more irritated with how much the reminder hurts him, than he is with Jace. Jace hadn’t meant anything by it, and Magnus hates that an off-hand comment from an acquaintance can sound so much like the confused hatred of his now-dead stepfather. He hears the sound of footsteps.

“Magnus?” Magnus ignores Alec, walking faster, and turns down the passageway to another wing of the chateau. Light shines in through the windows, mermaids in the stained glass swimming alongside him. Beauxbatons loves him, Magnus knows, but the halls almost seem to stretch as he tries to hide. Alec’s pace quickens, and then there’s a hand on Magnus’ arm—curse Alec Lightwood and his long legs.

Magnus sucks in a breath. “Yes?” he asks, turning toward Alec with a practiced smile. “Can I help you?”

Alec opens his mouth, then closes it, free hand coming to rest on his chin as he mutters in Bulgarian. “My brother,” Alec says, straightforward, French still just a little rough on his tongue. “He is not very...polite with people? Rude? I do not know the correct word.” Alec gives Magnus an apologetic smile, hand sliding down Magnus’ arm until their fingers are woven together. “I am sorry for him.”

Magnus stares at Alec for a moment, feeling Alec’s warmth, and laughs.

“Oh, Alec. It’s alright. It’s an honest question,” Magnus says. And it is. Quidditch is as eponymous to magic as wings are to flight, and to think that someone doesn’t even know the rules must be ridiculous. Alec shakes his head, insistent, raising Magnus’ hand to his lips.

“Even so,” he murmurs. “You are hurting, and I am sorry.” Alec leans down, kissing Magnus’ knuckles, eyes full of concern. “Come watch me. Please, I will teach you.”

Magnus doesn’t even realize he’s crying until tears drip from his chin and onto the stone flooring. “Oh, Morgana, this is so embarrassing,” Magnus mumbles, trying to hide his face. Alec refuses to let him.

“No apologies,” Alec murmurs. He cups Magnus’ face, hands gentle, and wipes the tears from Magnus’ cheeks. “I am sorry you are hurting.”

“Thank you, Alec,” Magnus whispers. He leans into the touch, soaking in Alec’s kindness.

“ Alexander. For you, I am Alexander,” Alec replies. “I care for you. Let me show you.”

Magnus nods, heart lurching in his chest as it reaches, desperate, for the sunlight of Alec’s smile. Magnus wishes he understood Bulgarian. He wishes he could hear what Alec means, instead of what he wants to hear.

“Thank you, Alexander.”

***

Two months pass. They don’t speak of it again after that day. Jace apologizes, and Magnus waves it off, emotions firmly under control once more.

Despite their silence on the subject, things between Magnus and Alec begin to change. As if that day broke a dam, Alec often holds Magnus’ hand, initiating physical contact with a casual sort of grace that leaves Magnus unable to flirt like he usually does.

Magnus attends the tryouts, spectating practices whenever he has time. He still doesn’t understand the complexities of the game, but he knows that Izzy, Jace, and Alec are all exceptional.

Alec gives Magnus a kiss on the cheek after dinner, much like how Izzy greets Magnus every morning. They part ways. Magnus ventures back to his quarters, taking in the fresh scent of pine as he admires the wreaths that appeared overnight. The holidays are upon them, decorations popping up around the chateau, and Magnus begins to think of what to get Alec as a gift. A watch maybe? Or a scarf perhaps. Dark green would look charming with Alec’s hazel eyes.

Raphael meets him at the door. “We need to talk.”

“Good evening to you too, my darling Raphael,” Magnus says, rolling his eyes as he unlocks the dark blue door that leads to their chambers.

“This isn’t a joke, Magnus,” Raphael snaps, irritated, following Magnus inside. “It’s about your precious Lightwoods.”

“They’re not mine,” Magnus replies.

Raphael plows on, undeterred. "Their father is Robert Lightwood. Sound familiar?”

Magnus thinks for a moment, then gives Raphael a sarcastic smile. “No, I can’t say it does.”

Raphael weighs his response. He mutters to himself, looking conflicted, then seems to make a decision. “The Lightwoods are a pureblood family,” He says, words ringing with a seriousness that would be comical on any other sixteen year old.

“Your point?” Magnus asks, quashing the insecurities that threaten to bloat his mind.

“You know what my point is, Magnus,” Raphael replies. “But if you need any other evidence...” He walks over to his desk, retrieving something before walking over to Magnus’ bedside. A book, bookmarked in the middle, lays on Magnus’ nightstand. Raphael’s heavy gaze bores a hole into Magnus’ chest. “Goodnight, Magnus.”

***

Magnus flips through the book Raphael gave him, sitting in the boughs of a large flowering tree. It smells like sunlight, comforting, golden beams winking in and out of existence as the leaves dance in the wind.

It’s a compendium of the remaining pureblood families, the author having taken great interest in the subject after Voldemort’s fall. The Lightwood family tree is illustrious to say the least. Alexander’s great-great-great-grandmother created the draught of living death, and another, even older relative, is recognized as the first wizard to use a threstral hair in wand-making. Thestral hair is not commonly used in wands anymore, but it’s impressive all the same.

Alec comes from a long line of purebloods. There’s not one member, of the Lightwood family, by marriage or otherwise, that isn’t pure blooded. Magnus continues reading.

With each wizarding war, the Lightwood family aligned with the pureblood elitists. Barghest Lightwood, Alec’s eldest uncle, had been convicted as a Death Eater, and died in Azkaban. The Lightwoods moved from England to Bulgaria after the Battle of Hogwarts. As unsurprising as it is, seeing the proof is more painful than Magnus expected. The Lightwoods do not believe that Magnus belongs in their world.

He sets the book onto a nearby branch and stares up into the maze of flowers, wondering what Alec thinks.

***

Magnus wakes when the sky turns dark. It’s cold, his limbs are stiff, and his neck aches from sleeping in an awkward position for too long. His stomach growls in the quiet air. He hears the clamor of students, laughter travelling down the halls and toward the main hall. It looks he hasn’t missed dinner.

With a languorous stretch, Magnus collects his things, swinging down to the ground with a _thud_. His bag bangs around his legs as he walks, slipping down his arm. He tugs it back over his shoulder and ventures into the corridor. The dining hall smells like beef stew, mouthwatering, the promise of warmth and comfort drawing Magnus to the table. Alec waves at him, but Magnus looks the other way.

He serves himself a steaming bowl of soup, grabbing a few slices of bread to dip into it, and slips from the dining hall. The smell of garlic and tomato permeates the sparsely populated hallways. It doesn’t take very long to reach his quarters, several paintings asking him for a bite of food as he walks past.

Dinner is quiet that night.

***

Magnus’ strategy doesn’t work for more than a couple days. Alec catches him on his way to the library, hand wrapping around Magnus’ wrist, tugging Magnus to a stop before letting go.

“Have you been avoiding me?” Alec asks, searching Magnus’ face for answers as he herds Magnus into an empty hallway. Magnus protests, unable to meet Alec’s eyes, excuses dying on his tongue as Alec refuses to let him escape.

“I—yes,” Magnus admits. “I’ve been avoiding you.

“Why?” Alec asks. He lets go of Magnus, crossing his arms. “What is the reason?”

Magnus steels himself, fighting down the desire to run. “You’re a Lightwood,” he says.

“I am,” Alec agrees, unmoved. He waits, impatient, gesturing for Magnus to continue.

“And I’m a muggleborn,” Magnus explains, watching, waiting for Alec to respond. Alec stares back at him, as if expecting him to continue. Magnus averts his gaze. Unicorns whiny from the mural that decorates the wall, foals wobbling over to poke at Magnus’ hand with their noses. There’s a beat of silence, then, Alec begins to speak.

“I see. Thank you for sharing with me.” He smiles, soft, and almost guilty. His arms unwind. “I understand why you are unsure to tell me. My family has a reputation.” Then, he struggles with what to say next, the language barrier frustrating him. “I understand, but I am not like them. We are not how we were.” His hand comes to rest over his heart, pressing against his chest. Hurt flashes across his face as he speaks. “Please do not pull away from me.”

Magnus bites his lip as he considers Alec’s words.

“And your siblings?”

Alec mulls this over before speaking. “Isabelle and I learn together. She is better. I still make mistakes.” He pauses, biting his lip. “Jace, he is slower at these lessons,” Alec confesses. “He is not friendly with others. Simon helps.” That makes sense. Simon is a half-blood, and more outspoken than the other Hufflepuffs Magnus has met.

“What about your parents?”

Alec’s eyes dim, brows drawing together as his hands fall to his sides, clenching into fists. “My father is not a good man. My mother tries.” He does not elaborate.

Magnus takes in Alec’s stiff posture. Families are complicated, whether they’re dead or alive. That is something Magnus understands well. He leans in close, catching Alec’s gaze, and runs his fingers over Alec’s knuckles.

“Last question,” Magnus says, smile growing playful. “When are you going to teach me how to play Quidditch?”

Alec brightens. “We can go now? I have a broom. We can borrow Jace’s.” He looks relieved to be back on even keel, tugging on Magnus’ heartstrings as he shoots Magnus a warm smile, the tension of their conversation melting from his eyes.

“As long as you promise that nothing will happen to my face,” Magnus says, pouting. Alec laughs, long and loud, before shooting Magnus a wolfish grin.

“Do not worry. I will protect your beautiful face.”

Magnus blushes. He tugs his collar up over his cheeks as he adjusts his bag, following as Alec leads him toward the Durmstrang wing.

***

It’s gorgeous, as it always is on the Beauxbatons grounds. The trees are always in bloom, petals and leaves rustling, fauna scurrying in the underbrush.

Magnus enjoys flying. He does not, however, enjoy dodging bludgers. The wind whips around him, whistling as the bludger hurtles toward him with startling speed. He lets out a yelp and starts to climb, broom carrying him further into the sky as he tries to outrun the cursed object. After a few close calls, Magnus convinces Alec that Quidditch just isn’t for him.

They come to rest in one of Beauxbatons’ many gardens. There are hydrangeas all around them, tiny petals creating waves of greens and pinks and purples, insects buzzing between the stems. Sunlight soaks into their skin, warming them despite the winter months that settle in sheets of white over the mountains. Alec sets his broom on a nearby bench, stretching as he turns to survey the flowers. Magnus watches as Alec sheds the outer layer of his uniform.

Alec keeps the fur cape in his room, but usually wears the maroon jacket and pants of the Durmstrang uniform. Jace and Izzy often forgo it all for the more spring-friendly Beauxbatons option, blue instead of their usual red, the school having provided a set for every exchange student.

A high-collared button-up exposes the barest hint of a black tattoo on Alec’s neck. The white material lays across his chest, chest hair peeking out of the top, stretching as Alec pulls the outer layer off. He drops it into the grass. A pair of beetles take off and zoom away, buzzing madly. Magnus whistles as Alec unfastens the top two buttons, ogling him without shame. Alec laughs and unfastens the next one with a playful smirk.

After banishing the assorted Quidditch equipment, he inspects Magnus for any sort of damage, gentle as he brushes Magnus’ hair from his forehead.

“You are in good condition?” Alec asks. His hand falls back to his side, a butterfly floating up to light on his shoulder. “Your beautiful face is not damaged?”

“I’m fine,” Magnus says. He misses Alec’s warmth, finding himself jealous of the tiny creature. He grips the broom as it bobs, sensing his agitation, dismounting it and stepping onto the lush grass. The lacquered wood is smooth beneath his fingers when he sets it next to Alec’s own.

He walks over to one of the many bushes, stroking the bundles of flowers as he admires them. Alec joins him. The sun kisses Alec’s hair, shining on the swaths of skin that Magnus finds so beautiful. “These are pretty,” Alec says. “Hydrangea, a flower to symbolize thanks.”

There’s a moment where Magnus wonders what he did to deserve Alec. It’s an invaluable gift, Alec’s presence, steadfast and warm at his side. He draws on Alec’s strength, searching for something to say. A fox darts out of one of the bushes. It rushes past them, leaping into a hedge before disappearing, leaving a series of crackling twigs in its wake. Magnus and Alec glance at each other, both of them grinning widely as the air quiets once more.

“This is my favorite garden,” Magnus says. Alec nods in understanding, waiting for Magnus to continue. “Beauxbatons was the first place that I felt at home. I feel like I belong here; I love the magic and the flowers, and the snow that falls in winter but never touches the ground.” He reaches up toward the sky and feels the wind rushing through his fingers. “I’m an orphan. My parents died when I was young, and I’ve only recently inherited the property they left for me.” Magnus thinks of its open halls and grand ceiling, all of it cold and untouched by the magic that flits through every molecule on Beauxbatons grounds. The very same magic that surges through his blood and frightened his parents.

“You are strong,” Alec says. “Your past. It is hard, but you are here, and with a smile.” Alec’s words are direct, the still-rough French hindering him from making any poetic statements, but the effect is the same.

The guileless nature of Alec’s words and actions is a healing balm that eases the weight that Magnus always carries with him. But Magnus does not know how to express how Alec makes him feel, nor does he know if his words would be welcome; so he lets the conversation blow away with the petals that fall into the wind.

Magnus lays down on the lawn and stares up at the clear sky. Alec hesitates to follow, still lingering by the hydrangeas. A pair of birds chirp overhead, one of them swooping down to inspect Alec’s clothes where they lay in a heap. Magnus turns to look at the brooms they left on the bench. “The Quidditch tournament will be starting soon won’t it?”

Alec wanders out of sight, calling behind him. “Yes. It is next week. We are calling it the _Christmas Quarrel_. Do you like it?”

Magnus laughs. “That’s perfect. How’s the team looking?”

“They are capable. We are a strong team,” Alec says, stepping back into Magnus’ view.

“Oh really? How does Beauxbatons look?”

Alec doesn’t say anything, then, a bit unsure, “They are okay.”

Magnus lets out a wounded noise. “Ouch, that hurts. Don’t kick our asses too hard.”

“I can lose match?” Alec says. “Beauxbatons is important to you.”

Magnus peeks up at Alec with one eye, gasping in mock offense. “Well now you _have_ to win.”

“I have to win?” Alec asks, coming to stand at Magnus’ side, hands hidden behind his back. “What will I get if I win?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” Magnus teases. He hopes that Alec doesn’t notice the blush burning up his neck and cheeks.

“I will find out if I win?” Alec asks.

“Of course,” Magnus swears, holding out his pinky. Alec stares at it for a moment, confused, before shooting Magnus a heartbreaking smile.

“I know this,” Alec says. “It means we make promise.” Alec winds their fingers together. “We do not makes these kinds of promises in Bulgaria.”

Magnus fights down the laugh bubbling in his chest, plastering a serious look on his face. “It’s a pinky promise, and pinky promises are extra special.”

“I see,” Alec replies, wearing a look of equal seriousness, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I will not lose,” he says. He shakes his head at Magnus’ antics and sits down at Magnus’ side, offering Magnus a cheerful flower with a multitude of long, thin petals. It looks almost out of place—a single bloom in a sea of hydrangeas. “For you.” Magnus sits up to accept the gift, his left arm taking most of his weight.

The flower is dainty between his fingers, bending, the head too heavy for its stem. He bites his lip. Magnus takes in a deep breath even though the fresh air doesn’t seem to be making it to his lungs. He looks up into Alec’s face, affection welling up and threatening to spill over. It smells like flora and teakwood and Magnus wishes he could bottle this moment and keep it forever. “This is the first flower anyone has ever given me,” Magnus whispers. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” Alec murmurs. He leans over Magnus, blocking out the sun. “Flowers suit you.” He pulls out his wand and waves it. Petals of all shapes and sizes showering down upon them. They land in Magnus’ hair and on his robes, catching on Alec’s shoulders before the wind sweeps them away.

Magnus reaches up, slow enough for Alec to evade him, and cups Alec’s cheek in his hand. Alec lays a hand over his own, then presses a kiss to Magnus’ palm.

“And that?” Magnus asks. Alec smiles.

“That was because I wanted to,” Alec whispers.

Magnus feels the exact moment he tumbles headfirst into love—when Alexander Lightwood lays down beside him, and laces their fingers together.

***

Both Hogwarts and Durmstrang best Beauxbatons with ease. After the first series of games, it’s obvious that Alec is as good as Izzy says he is, and Magnus grows to love quidditch despite still knowing nothing about it. 

It’s half an hour into the final match. Magnus leaps to his feet, cheering as Alec blocks another goal from one of the Hogwarts players. Alec tosses the quaffle to Izzy. She takes off, hair streaming behind her in the wind. Magnus loses track of her quickly, opting to watch as Alec surveys the field, wind billowing around him.

There’s the sound of a bell, and Alec pumps his fist, giving Izzy a high five as she and Jace streak past him and around the Durmstrang goalposts. Magnus checks the score. Durmstrang is up by thirty points.

All of a sudden, two of the players throw themselves into a dive. They charge through the mania of chasers, the beaters doing everything they can to catch any bludgers that come too close to the pair.

“What’s happening?” Magnus leans over to yell into Ragnor’s ear.

“The seekers have spotted the snitch,” Ragnor shouts back, fighting to be heard over the uproarious audience, the Beauxbatons student body having split loyalties. “The game is close. Whoever catches the snitch will win the game.”

Magnus turns back to the field, trying to follow the snitch while keeping track of Alec. Alec blocks another attempted goal. Magnus claps and hollers his approval.

A hush ripples over the crowd, and Magnus follows Alec’s gaze to see both seekers on the ground, standing with their brooms still between their legs. Then, the Durmstrang seeker raises her arm. Something golden gleams in her hand.

“Alec won,” Magnus whispers. The crowd erupts, all of the students rushing the pitch, sweeping Magnus along as they push forward, cheering and trampling the immaculate Beauxbatons lawn as they go. The horde swarms the Durmstrang seeker and raises her onto their shoulders. It’s then that Magnus spots Alec, fighting his way over.

“Magnus,” Alec says, reaching for him. They manage to grab hold of each other, and the throng pushes them closer together, pressing them chest to chest. Magnus gazes up into Alec’s eyes. “We won,” Alec says.

“You won,” Magnus breathes. “Congratulations.”

“What is my prize?” Alec asks, grinning. “You pinky promised me.”

It’s like the world freezes, disappearing, everything and everyone around them fading into white noise. Magnus gathers all of his courage and prays to every deity out there.

He grips the front of Alec’s uniform and pulls him in, their lips meeting. The kiss is short. Alec’s lips are dry and chapped, but Magnus doesn’t care—panic and worry setting in. Then, Alec pulls him into another, deeper, kiss. It sweeps Magnus up in a current, drawing him farther into Alec’s arms.

They come up for air, heaving, both of them too tangled in each other to acknowledge the chorus of cheers around them.

“I am sorry for my sweat,” Alec murmurs, lips brushing against Magnus’ with every word.

“Nothing a shower won’t fix. We can even save water if I joined you,” Magnus says, breathless, smirking.

Alec laughs, entire body shaking as he regards Magnus with a disbelieving smile. “To save water?”

“Water conservation is very important for environmental health,” Magnus says, grinning. Alec shakes his head and mutters to himself in Bulgarian. Magnus shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”

“You are funny,” Alec says. “You think that we would save water together. I think we would shower longer if we are together.”

Magnus blushes, blood rushing through his veins, and tugs on the sleeve of Alec’s Quidditch robes.

“Well, we can always find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> For anyone curious, the flower Alec gave Magnus was an aster!
> 
> If you want to chat, or just be subject to my shit tweets, hit me up @CryptidBane!


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